Missing Pieces
by Kihin Ranno
Summary: COMPLETE Once upon a time, a man said that the dead were, gone, but not forgotten. But what if the dead were gone and forgotten?


* * *

There's a grief that can't be spoken.  
There's a pain goes on and on.  
Phantom faces at the window.  
Phantom shadows on the floor.  
Empty chairs at empty tables...

"Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" from _Les Miserables_

* * *

Mizuno Emi, who was normally punctual to a fault, was running late for work for the first time in her recent memory. She ran around her penthouse apartment frantically, wondering why she hadn't bothered to collect her things the night before like she usually did. Instead, she'd left them all sitting on her desk - no doubt in a way that lacked any semblance of order.

She had woken up that morning over an hour late, curled up rather uncomfortably in her chair. She came around to find the window wide open and a rough wind blowing through the room. As an unfortunate result, her papers and medical charts were strewn about her once immaculate study. She was still trying to pick them all up, and she wasn't sure where they had all gotten to.

"Honestly," Emi muttered irritably, getting down on her hands and knees to check under the couch in a pencil skirt - no small feat. "You'd think someone had come in here and purposefully put all of my papers where I can't hope to reach them. I never leave the window open! Really!"

After straining for nearly a full minute, Emi managed to retrieve what she hoped was the last sheet and slipped it into her briefcase. She got to her feet, dusting herself off in a vain attempt to smooth the wrinkles out of her clothing. Finally, she deemed the task hopeless and threw her hands up in the air, letting out a delicate grunt of exasperation.

Emi was halfway out the door when she remembered she'd left her reading glasses in the kitchen.

The doctor paused in the foyer, rubbing her temples slightly with a sigh. She was so frazzled that she suspected she would have run out in her house slippers if she hadn't broken tradition and put them on already.

She couldn't figure out just why she was so on edge. She supposed it was because she wasn't accustomed to being late. It simply wasn't in her nature, and now she wasn't thinking straight. She probably had not had a sound night's sleep in her chair either. It was expensive, but undeniably rigid. Matter of fact,  
she'd purchased it to avoid falling asleep at her work. It was obviously time for a replacement.

Unshowered, exhausted, and running about without her morning tea did not a rational Emi make.

Still, she couldn't help but think that there was something else that she was missing. Something desperately important.

Emi waved off the feeling and turned smartly on her heel to go to the kitchen. She had never been a woman to put much stock into intuition or "feelings." Give her science and reasoning any day.

She strode into the kitchen, her heels clicking on the hard wood floor with almost business-like precision even in her own home. She glanced around and quickly found her glasses sitting on the kitchen table, a tiny silver sterling chain dripping off the edge of the table like a stream of water.

She tensed and put that out of mind. Water made her think of Nobu. And Emi did not care to think of her ex-husband.

Emi blinked rapidly, expertly wiping the thought from her mind as one would a car windshield. She walked forward, picking up her glasses in a motion that was both fluid and frenetic. She was once again about to turn when she saw a note sitting where her glasses had been. She hadn't noticed it before, and she found that odd.

Once again, Emi cited her poor physical condition for the moment, vowing to get some coffee the moment she reached work, hoping she could temper the bitter taste with enough crème. She reached down and snatched up the note. Mother and daughter often found this means of conveyance the only way they were able to have anything closely resembling a conversation some weeks. As a matter of fact, Emi couldn't remember the last time she had actually seen Ami face to face.

Emi tried to remember, but quickly gave up when she saw the time. She glanced back down at the note, hoping Ami had not gone on too long. It was written on the stationary her father had given to Ami for her birthday that year. That was the one occasion they ever seemed to hear from him.

Again, Emi put it out of mind and read the note.

_'Dear Momma,_

_I left for school early this morning. Usagi needs help on her homework. I'll probably be back late tonight too. Don't wait up. I love you._

_Love,  
Ami'_

Emi stared at the note for a moment. A decidedly long moment.

Nothing about that note sounded a bit like Ami. It was too terse, too random. Ami's notes had a tendency to flow. As a matter of fact, her notes often wound up seeming like essays, waxing philosophical on the merits of one teenage triviality or another.

And it was unlike her to be so open with her feelings. To mention the word love twice in one note was inconceivable. It wasn't that Ami didn't care. She was just a quietly affectionate girl.

Not to mention, the handwriting. It was atrocious. It looked as if Ami had written it with her opposite hand while intoxicated no less. And when Emi looked again, she realized with some amount of shock that there was not one lick of kanji.  
Not anywhere on the letter.

It was all very strange. Very strange indeed. And once again, Emi felt her heart start to well up with sudden panic. Her hands shook for reasons she couldn't even begin to theorize about. Her chest felt very tight.

Nothing was making sense anymore. The open window, the note... She was acting so unlike herself. She was jittery and emotional. She constantly felt as if her back was tied up in knots, as if the pressure of her work load was getting to her even though it was relatively light.

And her daughter. When was the last time she had seen her...

Emi paused, glancing down at the note again. Her hand was perfectly steady.

"She's so nice to that Usagi girl," Emi said with a soft smile, wondering what she'd been so upset about to begin with. Nothing wrong about Ami helping out a friend was there? "Although I do wish she wouldn't stay out so late. We all need our rest."

With that, Emi set down the note, patting it back into place right where she had found it. Then she gathered her things and turned, heading out of the apartment. She would arrive later to an empty penthouse and very deliberately not open the door to Ami's bedroom to see if she was there.

* * *

Senator Hino Nibori was a very busy man.

Ito Hitori was painfully aware of this unquestionable fact. It had been beaten in to his brain as he had spent the past few days living on the one phone in his possession. He had placed nearly fifty calls to his former son-in-law's office, and at least twice that to his home. He had yet to get past his secretary or his live-in maid. After awhile, he had started to call the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, but Nibori had not been too busy to call the Chief of Police and warn him of his crazy father-in-law.

Nibori had left Hitori with little choice than to pay him a personal visit. After all, the situation was of the most dire importance. Hitori was a man on a desperate mission, and he would do anything to accomplish it. Including employ the help of a man he almost hated.

Hitori stepped off the elevator, gripping his hat tightly in his hand. He had dressed in hopes of making his former son-in-law take him seriously. As he quickly walked forward, shoes pinching his feet and pants sagging about the waist, he wondered why he bothered.

It was all he could do to keep from running to where he knew the office was located. He felt several people turn to look at him briefly, only to look back at their work before so much as a second had passed. He wasn't of enough importance to drag these great men from their work.

Hitori nearly tripped up to the secretary's desk, chewing on the inside of his cheek. She looked up, heavy glasses and mousy brown hair. She did not recognize him at first, but quickly connected him to the one picture on Nibori's desk. It was of his wife and daughter in the hospital right after Rei's birth. Hitori had been pulled into the frame at the last moment. He looked very different than the proud, smiling father and grandfather captured in that moment in time.

"I-Ito-sama!" she squeaked, bowing slightly as she hastened to her feet, glancing at her boss's door. "We weren't expecting you."

"No, I don't suppose you were," Hitori said coldly. In truth, he bore no ill will against this woman, but he could not help but feel some resentment for the voice on the other end of the line who constantly repeated, "I'm sorry, Ito-sama, but I can't put you through at this time."

The secretary seemed hurt but understanding. "I'm sorry, Ito-sama, but I can't--"

"Say that louder," Hitori instructed her briskly.

She was clearly confused. "Excuse me?"

"Just do it, if you please."

Bewildered, but all too used to following orders, the secretary raised her voice and said, "I'm sorry, Ito-sama, but I can't let you in."

He briefly considered her volume, and then shook his head. "One more time, even louder."

"I'm sorry Ito-sama, but I can't let you in!"

Hitori nodded and brushed past her before she realized what was happening. As he turned the knob, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Now you're off the hook."

He stepped in, locking the door behind him.

Nibori had to look up three times before he realized that someone had entered in his office. On the fourth time, he realized who it was. "Ito-san? What are you doing--"

"You will not answer my phone calls, Hino-sama, so you have left me with little choice than to come here." Hitori was gripping his hat so tightly that his hands shook. He was not a man who lost his temper easily, but he could not hope to hold back his emotions now.

Nibori regarded him as one would regard a troublesome child who would not stop asking unanswerable questions. "Ito-san, I have told you, I am far too busy to--"

"I know that you are a busy man, Hino-sama," Hitori interrupted. "You were too busy to recognize your wife's deteriorating health and too busy to care for your daughter. But for once in your life, take time out of your schedule for your family."

Nibori swallowed, removing his gold wire frame reading glasses in exasperation. His hand went up to rake through his slicked back hair, but he stopped at the last moment, correcting himself. He knew how it would look to refuse. And while he did not normally regard Hitori as a threat, he wondered if perhaps the next call he would place would be to the press. He could hardly take that chance.

"What is it you wish to discuss with me, Ito-san?"

Hitori knew better than to be relieved. "Rei. I am here for Rei. Just as I have been phoning about her for the past three days."

"What is wrong with Rei?" Nibori asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. It creaked from lack of use. "Are her grades slipping?  
Is she neglecting her duties to the shrine? What is it?"

Hitori felt like throwing something. He had only been screaming this into a phone for 72 hours. "She is missing."

Nibori looked as if he had been reminded of the precise ending of an epic poem. "Oh, yes."

Now, Hitori felt his patience run thin. He had just told this man that his daughter was nowhere to be found, and Nibori had done little more than flinch. It went beyond the bounds of frustration. Hitori felt his jaw tighten as he ground out, "I cannot find your daughter, sir. At least have the decency to show some concern for her well being."

"Ito-san, I'm sure that Rei is just fine. You are clearly overreacting," Nibori said stoically.

"Because I show emotion?" Hitori snapped.

"Because you are overreacting," Nibori countered. "Rei is a temperamental girl. How do you know she didn't get upset with you and is staying at a friends?"

"I have called her friends!" Hitori raged, nearly ripping his hat in two. "No one ever picks up the phone! Sometimes, I get an answer at the Ainos, and they act as if they've never even heard of Rei! And I only ever talk to Usagi at the Tsukinos, and all she does is assure me that everything is all right!"

"Then maybe everything is all right," Nibori sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Then why hasn't she come home?" Hitori asked bitterly. "Rei isn't the kind of girl who would just disappear because she was upset."

Nibori twitched as if to smile, but deemed it an inappropriate response. "So you have fought."

Hitori bristled, looking away from the senator. Yes, he and Rei had fought. He could hardly remember what it had been about. Rei had been visibly upset about something, but would say nothing about what was bothering her. She had turned on him and began screaming about how it was none of his business and how she couldn't tell him even if she wanted to... He hadn't understood any of this. She had run off afterwards, carrying a duffle bag. She had met her friend Minako at the top of the stairs and pulled her off by the wrist. Minako had waved to him sympathetically, forcing a smile.

He had not seen either girl since then.

"She still would have come home. It wasn't that serious."

Nibori shrugged. "Everything is serious to a teenage girl."

"Do not act as if you are an authority on the subject, Hino-sama. You were never young."

Nibori did not argue.

Hitori walked forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Please, Hino-sama. All I ask is that you report her missing. Help me look for her. Help me find your daughter."

Nibori considered this for a moment, and for a second, Hitori dared to hope. Perhaps his son-in-law would see reason. Maybe he would find it in his heart to do one thing for Rei. Just one. He was not asking for much. Just compassion.

After awhile, Nibori began shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I cannot help you."

Hitori felt tears stinging at his eyes. He hung his head and croaked, "Nibori... I have already lost my daughter to you. Do not take my granddaughter."

Any feeling the senator had felt for the old man vanished instantly. He got to his feet and began to show him to the door. "Get out."

Hitori wept openly for the first time in his life, feeling no shame in being seen by this so-called great man. He grabbed the senator's collar and held on tightly,  
his hat forgotten and trampled under foot. "If you ever cared for Sakae, you would help me!"

"I loved my wife," Nibori told him evenly, lacking passion, struggling to pry him off.

"I still love my daughter!" the smaller man yelled, his voice cracking. "And my granddaughter! Nibori, I know that something is wrong. I cannot contact any of her other friends. She hasn't been going to school. No one has seen her."

After several more moments, Nibori looked up and shouted, "Saito-san! Please call security!"

"I knock on her friends' doors, but no one answers! Only little Usagi who tells me that she'll take care of everything with red rimmed eyes. That little girl says that she's going to save my granddaughter, and I don't know what she's saving her from!"

"Security!" Nibori repeated, his hair becoming mussed.

The doors burst open and two armed guards came in. Without waiting for instruction, they strode forward and grabbed Hitori by the arms, pulling him off the senator. They were gentle only because of his age, giving him more time to make one last appeal.

"I wake up in the mornings, and sometimes I forget!" Hitori said desperately. "I walk passed her room, expecting it to be empty. I see her photo and I think it's Sakae! Then I remember and I call you, but you won't answer. Something is wrong, Nibori. Something is trying to make me forget about her. Something I'm supposed to let little Tsukino Usagi take care of!"

"You are clearly disturbed, Ito-san." Nibori hissed as the guards finally disentangled the pair.

"I just want my granddaughter!" Hitori shouted pathetically as he was dragged out of the office.

"And I just want my peace," Nibori called out, slamming the doors behind him.

* * *

There wasn't one person at Makoto's apartment to miss her presence. But even though she always said that she lived alone, she had many companions who were very important to her.

There were her lavender topiaries that filled her home with the loveliest fragrance to come home to after a stressful day at school or a difficult battle.  
There were her Lois Burks with their flashy, salmon colored blossoms the same color as that scarf Haruka liked to wear. And her favorites, the Lace Cap Hydrangeas that went so well with her spotless, pristine, world renowned white dining room. And then there were the flowerless blooms that she cared for with just as much precision and skill.

For many years, they had been her only friends. Now, she had the sorts of friends who could talk back and who looked like her. She had those four girls who often ate her food, and the boy she had kissed until he turned posey pink. They were all very important to her. But she had never forgotten her first confidantes.

Until now. The flowers couldn't understand why their mistress had been gone for so long. They were used to being treated with such incredible care. They didn't even know the meaning of the word neglect so they weren't sure what to call it now that their mistress was no longer caring for them

They were in need of water and pruning. They were things anyone could have done for them, although never as good as her. But they needed other things as well. They needed her voice, low and breathy, singing the latest pop hit under her breath and slightly off key. They needed her touch, firm but gentle, stroking their leaves as one would stroke the hair of a lover or dear friend. They needed her hair like the dirt they spent their whole lives in and her eyes they all strived to mimic. They needed her.

The plants all leaned towards the sun, taking what nourishment they could from its harsh rays. They gazed out at the street, looking for the familiar ponytail bobbing above the rest of the crowd. They looked day after day, but they still did not see her coming their way. Some of them stopped looking after awhile. Some of them stopped doing much of anything after awhile.

When night would fall, they would turn away from the window and wilt for they could not weep. They would spend the night wondering what this strange feeling was and why their mistress did not come home. And when the sun came again, they would turn to look out the window, searching.

Always searching.

* * *

Artemis awoke from his eighth cat nap feeling cold. His eyes hurt even though he had been sleeping for hours. He knew why, and he sniffed, choosing not to think about it.

He stood up from his place on the gold and orange plaid bed, resting in a different place than he usually did. Normally, Minako would have banished him to the foot of the bed to ensure that she didn't inhale any cat hair. However, now he was curled up against her thirty odd pillows and stuffed animals, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and locking it in his memory for all time.

After all, he would be leaving soon.

He stretched, not bothering to take the normal care to work out all of his joints and muscles. He unsheathed his claws, digging them into her once unmarred comforter, pulling up some strands without meaning to. He stared at them for a moment, half expecting to hear her thundering up the stairs, demanding to know what he'd just destroyed. She had a sixth sense about such things and would often come running at him no matter what she had been doing. She would often end up destroying at least three other things in her trip.

He bent his head, feeling his throat tighten up. He knew that most people... Well, beings in his position would have been inclined to try and put her out of mind. Put the incident out of mind. They would grieve silently, but never acknowledge what they were grieving for.

But Artemis would never do that. If he stopped thinking about her, then she really was... gone. As long as he remembered her, there was hope. As long as he thought about her and everything connected with her in every moment of every day, she would survive. And eventually she would come thundering up the stairs, somehow managing to scold him into terror with an obnoxious grin on her face.

He cleared his throat and hopped off the bed. It was best if he got going.

Artemis paused outside the door when he saw Minako's mother, Kaida, walking down the hallway. The tomcat shuddered as he looked at her, almost wanting to look away. But he didn't. He watched this ghost of a woman, this shell of a harpy wander down the corridor, looking for an exit from this cloudy nightmare she'd fallen into.

She wasn't in mourning like he was. Oh, no. That wasn't it. She didn't weep for her daughter and neither did her husband, Hisoka. And though Artemis had never been especially fond of either of them, he did not deny that they would have if they had known the truth.

Artemis sighed quietly as she passed, walking out after her. He followed her for a time, half tempted to speak up and say something resembling comfort. Of course, he didn't. Even if she wouldn't be aware of what was happening, he couldn't take such an uncalculated risk out of his sympathy for her plight.

Kaida was a woman who lived for her daughter. Had anyone said that to Minako, she probably would have laughed boisterously until she was sobbing harder than any sappy romance movie could make her. But it was the truth, and Artemis had known it for some time now.

Aino Kaida was bound and determined that her daughter have a better life than either of her parents had been able to provide. She discouraged Minako from dating in order to ensure that she didn't wind up tied down to a man she hadn't had a decent conversation with in years. She insisted that she do her homework and achieve good grades so that she would be able to take care of herself and not have to depend on her husband for income. She scoffed at Minako's dreams to be an idol in order to protect her from exploitation and, in her eyes, inevitable failure.

True, her methods were at times cruel and unusual. True, Artemis couldn't wait until Minako could move out so that he never had to wake up to her shrieking every morning. And true, Kaida was a little crazed.

But she loved her daughter and would have fallen apart if she knew what Minako did at night and where she had been for... How long had it been now? It felt like years since he'd last seen her. But he supposed it hadn't even been a week.

Yes, she would have broken in two. Maybe more than that.

And that was precisely why she had forgotten.

As far as Aino Kaida and Hisoka could remember, they had no daughter. There was no hormonal, bouncy, exasperating sixteen year old dancing about the house, knocking things over with her wild grace. There was no blossoming young woman who could sometimes be insightful enough to make Hisoka look up from his newspaper. To them, there was no Aino Minako.

And that was why Artemis couldn't stand to stay in that house a minute longer.

He zipped down the stairs, running past Kaida so fast that he was little more than a white blur. She didn't notice him or anything else for that matter. She simply roamed around the house, directionless. Without Minako, she had no purpose and was therefore lost. Hisoka hadn't changed much, but he'd always been detached in a way that made Artemis' fur crawl.

He paused, looking around the house for what might have been the last time. He looked at the mess that had accumulated since Kaida had gone catatonic and at the mess that had always been there, left behind by a blonde dervish with a beautiful soprano laugh. He looked at everything and was suddenly amazed at how adept the Ainos were at closing their eyes to the obvious.

There were hints of her strewn all about the house. Her extra pair of scuffed up Mary Janes were sitting inside the door. Her lucky volleyball was resting in a dark corner somewhere and treated as part of the decor. One of her hair ribbons had been tossed over the banister and Hisoka had wondered why his wife was already getting out the Christmas decorations.

There were PICTURES of her EVERYWHERE, but they never looked at them.

She wasn't dead to them. She had never existed to them.

And that was why Artemis would never stop thinking about her. No matter what, he would not abandon his Minako. He would not let her be forgotten.


End file.
